


Barbarism Begins At Home

by Slippery Kick (AceQueenKing)



Category: Tekken
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sexual Violence, Tekken 4 Setting, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 06:37:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12699417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/Slippery%20Kick
Summary: Lee Chaolan is stalked by a man who keeps sending him messages claiming to be his dead brother - and troublingly enough, sounds exactly like him, too.





	Barbarism Begins At Home

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Kazuya Mishima is not a nice man.

Heihachi was only halfway through his introductory speech when Chaolan felt his phone go off.

It was not entirely surprising. Heihachi, as always, was in love with his own voice. He had blathered on for at least thirty minutes now about the King of Iron Fist tournament's illustrious prestige with no end in sight. Prestigious,  Chaolan thought, what a joke. The tournament was blood-sport and always had been.

His phone was a welcome distraction.  He was an important man, and he was  _bound_  to have a few messages waiting for him.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket surreptitiously.  He was, after all, in cover, and it was best not to attract Heihachi's attention too much to “Violet.”

_Bondage Pants? Really, Chaolan?_

He blinked, stomach tightening. He had expected an expensive report or some exciting breakthroughs from his combat engineers. Not some stranger critiquing his fashion choices. 

Worse, a stranger who knew his name and had to be at this very event. Heihachi hadn't allowed the press in – wouldn't, not until he finished his speech.

Had he given himself away somehow? 

He glanced toward the rafters in the large hall – no snipers. It wasn't someone in the Zaibatsu, at least. 

His phone buzzed again; another message from the same number.

_I thought you would have grown out of something as gaudy as that top by now._

Definitively  _not_ an expensive report.

As Heihachi droned on about the rules of the tournament, Chaolan not-so-calmly searched for the number. It was an unknown; at best he could determine it was a private cell. The area code was American, evidently, but not one of his contacts.

_But then you always were an ostentatious maggot._

Chaolan blinked.

There were only two people who had ever called him a maggot, at least to his face. It wasn't Heihachi; the old man wasn't tech savvy enough to text and boast at the same time. 

The other, well – the other wasn't worth thinking about. Especially now that he was dead.

Heihachi switched gears, threatening a merciless response to anyone who committed corporate espionage. 

_I assume this little addition to the old man's speech is your doing? Stealing father's assets? You never were one to stand on your own legs._

Chaolan's drew a sharp intake of breath as he stared at the latest message. Could it be…?

No.

There was no chance. Kazuya had conquered many things, but death had not been one of them.   
  
But who else could ever refer to Heihachi as  _father_ …

He swallowed and put his phone back in his pocket. He ignored the rest of the messages, though he could not concentrate on Heihachi's speech either. His phone continued to vibrate well after he put it away, though, and his heart raced – but not at the thought of the competition.

He'd been found out – and as soon as he could figure out who his mysterious phantom was, he'd make sure no one would ever find him again.

\- - -

He walked back to the hotel room quietly.

To say that Violet – well known for his swagger and panache – ducked the media would not quite be accurate... He still threw kisses to the crowd and whirled, but there was an anxiety underneath his words, a terrible urge to run into his hotel room and hide as soon as he could. He'd planned to give at  _least_  a 30-minute conference on his Combot unit, with an additional Q & A from the media, but instead, he cut it short; a 20-minute presentation, no questions from the press.

His eyes couldn't help but scan the crowd whenever the emphasis was off him, as the press oohed and ahhed over his new Combot demonstrating some of its moves – but he recognized no one, even as his phone continued to buzz in his pocket.

\- - -

He was back in his hotel room before he read through the messages. Each one made his stomach turn more and more;  _look at you dance like a faggot; hiding behind a robot and a purple wig? I cannot say I'm surprised._ He frowned, well aware of how his public persona appeared. His years working for Kazuya had stripped him of all his abilities to give a damn about corporate appropriateness; he knew he looked good, and he flaunted it. It had made him stand out, in the early days. That this...troll… would assume he would care what Chaolan thought suggested someone who either didn't know him well...or knew him all too well.

The next message made his blood run cold.

_To think father once thought you the more worthy heir._

This was the last message. A cold fury gripped him; he could feel it squeezing him, ice running through his veins, coursing through his extremities. He was very aware his hands were cold and damp with sweat.

He was unable to stop himself from responding.

_If you want to see who is more worthy, I'm in room 304 at Millenium Mitsui Garden Hotel. Come and see._

His senses gripped him the second after he pressed send; he threw the phone across the room as if it was possessed. He bit his lip as he stood, scanning the room.

_What had he done?_

There were, in truth, only two options, and Lee Chaolan didn't like either of them. It had been foolish to allow himself to respond, to let his emotions get the best of him. He hadn't done that since… since…

He swallowed.  _Kazuya_. Kazuya had always been able to get under his skin, but the man had been dead for twenty years. He had been there, at the end; one of the few who had seen Heihachi toss his only born son into the firey pit. And now – Kazuya was dead. The only one who had ever succeeded in riling him so was dead. Whoever this fucking asshole was who tried to lay claim to a dead man's heart didn't matter. Lee Chaolan would personally see them into the depths of hell.

There was a knock at the door, and he frowned at that; it had not taken long for his harasser to come. The entire hotel was rented out for the tournament, for the fighters and their entourage; this meant it had to be someone working for a tournament. Likely an old hand of Heihachi's, to be someone who could replicate Kazuya's… charming… demeanor so well.

He grabbed a cane, cursing the fact that he'd let his assistant Belle and his combots stay in another hotel, one with much worse security. He hadn't wanted any corporate espionage, and he'd figured that he'd have been safe enough – even if Heihachi realized who he was, he could hardly assassinate his prodigal stepson in the middle of an event where the press followed him everywhere.

The knock sounded again, louder this time. His hand tightened over the cane; it would have to do.

He opened the door; only slightly, though a large foot pushed itself in the door.

“Who the  _fuck_  – “ he started to say, but froze as the equally large body pushed himself through the door.

His harasser, he had to admit, had done an almost-good job of replicating a long-dead ghost. There were a few too many scars, of course; and the gut was far too full to be Kazuya, but the rest...the rest was  _close_. The same sloped hair that had dominated his nightmares, the dark-dark brown eyes, so dark that he still had nightmares that persisted upon him when waking, worrying he might see a glint of those deep brown eyes following him in the darkness during moonless nights. Same, too, the uncanny expression, intense and unfathomable.

Lee Chaolan stared at his would-be brother and laughed.

“A good try, I suppose.” He leered, his fists closing around his cane in hopes that Kazuya's impostor wouldn't see how badly he was shaken. “But my brother was  _quite_  a bit thinner.”  
  
“Still the same mouth, I see,” the voice said; deep and bitter, and far too close to the original to set nerves at ease.

The man leaned forward surprisingly quickly despite his large frame, and Chaolan's hands dropped the can he was holding as the man kissed him, roughly. His back slammed up against the door as the man pushed him up against him, his palms pinning Chaolan to the back of the wall.

Chaolan grunted in pain but the imposter left him no room to breath, no succor; the large man (far larger than Kazuya, he repeated to himself, _far_ larger) pressed himself into Chaolan, pressed himself so hard he could feel the beginnings of an erection twisting against his thigh. That felt closer to the proportions he remembered, though that meant little. He had fucked enough men to know that cock size was something common enough to not be a reliable indicator of identification. 

The imposter's hand twisted in his hair, and Chaolan swore; it was painful, but the man clearly cared little. Two large, well-muscled hands went into the wall on both sides of him, trapping him. 

"Who are you?" Chaolan asked. His shaking hand caressed the cheek of a man he'd long felt confident was dead and waiting for him in hell, and his stomach turned. Those muscles, much like his beloved brother, could cut any bit of glass run across them.

"It is surely obvious," the man grunted. He picked Chaolan up and threw him toward the bed, following at a stride that bespoke of both strength and interest.  The man began undressing, his fingers sliding over the top of his pants. Chaolan's eyes narrowed; while Kazuya generally did prefer to take off his pants first and not his top, there was another reason that the imposter might want to start in that unusual order.

"What name are you in this tournament under, then?" Chaolan said, his fingers lightly threading through the imposter's buttons. He kept up the eye contact, not because he wanted to distract the man (though it was working; the dark chocolate eyes followed his own, and not the fingers gently unbuttoning the deep claret red oxford the impostor had worn) but because he was afraid of losing his composure, if what he revealed was what he most feared.

There were few willing to scar themselves so thoroughly as Kazuya had worn. In combat, he had worn it as a trophy, the huge and ugly gash Heihachi had gifted him with. But it had never quite healed correctly - Heihachi had never allowed Kazuya to see a doctor about it and it still felt warm to the touch, even twenty years down the line. And with the liberty of being able to face it many years past the fact, on a therapist's couch with a bitter wine of his own in his hand, he was able to recognize that this was a sign that things would always have ended the way they had, no matter what Chaolan could have done about it. His role was merely to watch a tragedy occur in real time to Heihachi and Kazuya both. They had little patience or desire to train one such as him, they had no real intention of making him the heir. His role was to chronicle the animosity between them.

That same animosity stared down at him, "Kazuya's" eyes dancing in the moonlight. As true to the original, the eyes were unreadable, looking as if they would swallow every bit of light in the dark room. 

"My fucking own," the impostor said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not the sort of man who hides from his name. Unlike others." 

Chaolan's eyebrows rose, and he knew it was a tell. To distract himself - as well as the impostor - he tore open the now un-buttoned top, letting it fall to the floor. 

And gasped. The scar was there, as heavy and ugly as he remembered. He pressed a hand against it and found it warm.

"Fuck," he said, eloquently. "You're committed, I will give you that." 

"And still the prodigal son does not believe," Kazuya grunted, He pulled down Chaolan's pants, letting them fall to the ground. Unlike Kazuya, he did not have an erection burgeoning against his pants, but he was not entirely - unwilling. 

And then Kazuya grunted, ripping his top - unlike Chaolan, he hadn't bothered to preserve Chaolan's clothing. "You will have to pay for that," Chaolan said, and he heard his voice quaking. 

Kazuya palmed him, rough, his fingers showing no mercy and no remorse. "You owe me far more, Chaolan," he grunted, then shoved him toward the bed. "On your knees," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. It sent chills down Chaolan's spine, and he obeyed, half out of memory and half out of fear. Kazuya had always preferred it this way, had found it easier not to see his eyes. The cynic in Chaolan pointed out this too had made him unable to focus on the impostor - whose identity he was beginning to have very serious doubts about - and Chaolan sighed, shivering.

"If you're going to do it, do it," he said, his voice strained. "Kazuya wouldn't have waited, staring at the view." It was a daring thing to say, and a more daring thing to do, Kazuya, the real Kazuya, would have roared to life at that. Kazuya had never liked the thought of being unmanly, of being anything but dominant; if this was him, the response would be immediate and unkind. 

And it was. Kazuya roared to life, pulling Chaolan's hair and forcing him backward in an action that hurt as much as it made his dick hard. "Don't. Rush. Me." Kazuya said, at the same time he pushed inside him. Chaolan let out a hard puff of air as Kazuya dropped him. He hadn't gone for any Lube beyond his own pre-cum, and he waited little for Chaolan's comfort before withdrawing and pushing forward again, despite his size.

Chaolan bit back a groan - he would  _not_  groan, not for an impossible man - and wondered what sort of situation he'd found himself in. It was not an imposter, he was sure now; the mood had ben too right, the physical characteristics too good. He had talked like the man himself, knew the man himself - knew Chaolan's private number, knew his weaknesses, the things he liked - so, if not an imposter than it was a ghost. 

Shaking, Chaolan arced his back, staring straight ahead. So what if it was a ghost? He had been with all sorts of supernatural elements; surely a ghost was not beyond the pale. Perhaps that was all it was; a vengeful ghost, out for revenge. He had heard rumors of them before, even in the Mishima house, he had often heard a woman laughing. Kazuya had been inhumanly strong as a living man - what, if anything, was he as a ghost?

Chaolan swallowed. 

"Cat got your tongue?" Kazuya snarled. He slapped Chaolan across the ass hard, in a way that he knew would sting tomorrow. Chaolan's eyes watered. 

"I missed you so much, you know," he said, sarcastically, and it hurt, because it was true even if it was horrible. He had missed him, had missed the madness, the power, the glory. He shook, but he got the words out, in the venom he'd intended for them. Kazuya pushed forward and buried himself deep, his strong, thick hands laying on Chaolan's shoulders. And oh, but they were such strong, dead hands.

"Then you will be happy to witness me reclaim my throne,   _otouto_ ," Kazuya snarled and finished. Chaolan froze, said nothing as Kazuya cleaned himself off on his bedspread, and did not stop shaking until the door slammed shut. 

He collapsed on the bed, staring out into the lights of the city, and wondered if Heihachi had any idea of the hell storm that Chaolan knew would swallow them both whole.

That was the problem with Kazuya, in the end. He had always wanted everything, and he had always taken what he wanted. Not even death could stop him - how could Lee Chaolan?

He slept that night, but fitfully. When he awoke, there were already multiple messages on his phone, each more vulgar and humiliating than the last. 

  


 


End file.
